


Intrusive Treatments

by ExtraPenguin



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Book: Cetaganda, Cetaganda, Community: trope_bingo, Consent Issues, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Oral Sex, Trope Bingo Round 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 09:28:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3204287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExtraPenguin/pseuds/ExtraPenguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miles got hit by a haut bioweapon on Ilsum Kety's ship. The haut-ladies order the newly promoted Dag Benin to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intrusive Treatments

Miles felt queasy beyond what Ivan termed “the usual post-mission sulk”. Either it was the aftershocks of liberating the Great Key, or, more likely, the powder the haut Ilsum Kety had tossed in his face before asking the guard to apply his shockstick to Miles.

 

Miles accepted Rian's lock of hair, and was about to ask her whether she wanted anything to remember him by, when he was overcome by a fit of coughing.

In his peripheral vision a haut-bubble blinked out. “The powder”, Pel said. “The haut Vio must have given Kety the products of some of our more … _useful_ experiments.”

Rian looked vaguely guilty.

“How soon will I drop dead?” Miles asked.

“You are still alive, so you have a week at least. We will attend to you after the cremation”, Pel declared and opacified her bubble. The conversation was over.

 

After the Emperor exited, ghem-General Benin came to escort him to the waiting haut-ladies. “I have informed your compatriots that you will be returned later”, he said. Miles snorted, thinking of Vorob'yev's reaction.

 

Benin took him to a small room with two bubbles that revealed Pel and Rian in them. Pel was carrying what looked like a comconsole uplink. Benin slipped to a corner of the room.  It appeared that the room was an influential person's office, recently vacated. Naru?

“What symptoms have you had?” Rian asked.

“Erm. Nausea, vertigo, exhaustion, and maybe a mild fever? Some of it could be the shockstick, though. Oh, and my nose hurts.”

Pel tapped at her uplink. Rian glanced her way, then asked, “Do you remember what the vector looked like?”

“Powder. I believe it was some shade of red-brown-orange. Itchy, too. I think I sneezed.”

Pel fiddled a bit more, then declared, “I believe we have narrowed it down to one. The preliminary data states that the counteragent is oxytocin. I'll download a more detailed description, please wait.”

The corner Benin had gone to h el d a comconsole. “Oxytocin is apparently a naturally synthesized hormone. There seem to be multiple ways of causing its production.”

“Could you list them? Are any of them more effective than others?” Miles asked. Pel's uplink was looking rather slow.

“Romantic attraction and attachment, sexual arousal, numerous in-group behaviors and the suppression of hunger after eating. Apparently, the most effective means is orgasm. Unless you're hiding an uterus in there, in which case numerous childbirth-related things would cause a significant increase.”

_Well, at least the cure isn't worse than the disease_ . “Why make a weapon that's that easy to counteract?”

Pel's uplink pinged. “Well, apparently it was the deceased haut Sajia Kaeron's little joke project. It reads here that her foremost motivation was the humor of creating a disease whose cure was repeated, intense sex. General, I trust you can take care of Lieutenant Vorkosigan's problem?” With that, the haut brought up their bubbles and left the room.  The men were left staring at the door.

“Well, looks like your leash just got yanked”, Miles said. “In any case, it looks like I'm dead. Either of this _thing_ or of embarrassment.”

Benin looked shocked. Or mortified. In any case, Miles let his faux cheeriness fall.

Benin broke out of his reverie and looked around. Following his gaze, Miles spotted a discreet washroom. Benin rummaged around the desk's drawers. He appeared to find what he was looking for, then was satisfied.

“You do realize that I have inherited this office from Naru?” Benin asked, then disappeared into the washroom. Probably to puke. That's what people tended to do after being asked to imagine sex with Miles. The sad part was that Benin was dutiful enough that he would actually go through, and Miles wasn't even into men.

Miles was interrupted from his darkening thought s by Benin emerging from the washroom, face now paintless.

Benin had high cheekbones and the outer corners of his eyes were noticeably higher than the inner corners. His face was pleasant, symmetrical,  and  handsome,  bordering on pretty .  A bove all,  though, he was young. Miles revised his estimation of the General's age downwards.

“So”, Benin said. “Shall we begin?” He gestured ambiguously at Miles.

“I am wondering what definition of sex the haut-lady was using”, Miles said. “Y'see, sex isn't so much one thing as a whole set of things, all differing to some degree, and maybe there's a bit of wriggle room-” He cut himself off when he realized he was babbling.

“I _have_ attended to my Sexual Education classes in school”, Benin said haughtily, then continued in his normal voice. “Since this is your life we are talking about, I await your suggestion.”

Well, given the circumstances, Miles couldn't fault the man on wanting to have to do as little as possible. He considered asking for explicit consent, then decided that the General was unable to give it, considering the fact that he had been given an order.

“So, oxytocin is related to sexual arousal?” Miles asked. Benin nodded. “Then I suggest actually, uh, getting aroused. If you'd come over here?”

Benin stepped over, tossing off his red uniform jacket on the way, revealing a white undershirt. He seemed unsure of what to do once he was in Miles' personal space, then eventually decided on carding his hands through Miles' hair.

“So, um, on necessary information: due to my, uh, teratogenic condition, my bones are fragile, so I break easily. I also got slapped in the crotch with a shockstick yesterday, so I'm not sure on whether my dick will be cooperating. I also have no idea what I'm doing, and I'm pretty sure I'm heterosexual. I think that just about covers it all.” Miles shut his mouth.

Benin raised an immaculate eyebrow. “I'll see what I can do. Is a man's mouth that different to a woman's?”

“No”, Miles admitted. He decided that this had been a hint, and tossed off his trousers and underwear, then sat down on the chair next to the desk.

Benin took a deep breath, then kneeled between Miles' legs. Unexpectedly, he paused to nuzzle Miles' cock before taking it in his mouth.

Miles automatically closed his eyes and tilted his head back. The pleasure was distracting enough that he could just lean back and enjoy it. He wanted to hold something with his hands, so he carded them into Benin's hair. The Cetagandan regulation cut looked to be a good two inches longer than its Barrayaran equivalent.

It was easy to lose himself in the pleasure. By no means could Miles call himself a connoisseur of oral sex, but Benin clearly had some skill beyond “no teeth”. Miles had to restrain his hands so as to not accidentally choke Benin.

An embarrassingly small time later, Miles felt his orgasm building. He managed to produce some noises before coming into Benin's mouth with a grunt.

Benin went to the washroom, probably to spit, puke, and scrub himself clean, but Miles didn't care. Miles was a mass of orgasmic putty. Miles would be all happy and oxytocin-producing like the haut-ladies had instructed.

When Benin reemerged, Miles had recovered enough that he could claim the washroom for himself. He cleaned up a bit, was happy that his shirt hadn't gained any embarrassing stains, and went back into the room for his trousers, boots and underwear.

Benin had put on his red uniform jacket and pulled a set of face-paint and brushes from a drawer. While Miles pulled on his clothes, Benin applied the white base layer. “This will take some time”, he warned. Miles shrugged mentally and decided to observe.

After the white layer was evenly applied – the paints came with a small mirror to aid Benin in his task – he waited for a while. Miles bit his lip to halt the flow of questions brought by his slightly more genial mood.

Benin took out what appeared to be the love child of a paintbrush and one of the innumerable stick-like things Barrayaran women used to apply their make-up. He dipped it into the black and set on drawing on the countless stripes and whorls of the zebra face. Benin started with the left side of his face and completed that before moving on to the right side. The half-way point was enlightening: the black lines combined to give the illusion of greater gauntness, higher cheek-bones, a more defined chin, and a narrower nose. It somewhat amused Miles that the uniformness in Cetagandan eyebrows was painted on, rather than genetic.

After Benin was done with the black, he cleaned the brush in a fourth bottle. He selected a narrower brush, dipped it into the red, and began the slightly more finicky red lines; this time with more ridiculous expressions in an effort to get the skin taut.

 

Benin handed Miles over to Ivan, Vorob'yev and Vorreedi.

“What is the meaning of this – delay?” Vorob'yev asked. He sounded snappish.

“During his travails, your compatriot collided with an unauthorized bioweapon. Out of generosity, we treated him.” Benin was wearing his best game face. Miraculously, he appeared unruffled.

“What _kind_ of treatments?” Vorreedi asked, doubtless happy for any excuse to submit Miles to invasive scanning.

“Rather intrusive, I'm afraid. He should be let to rest for the next week, so as to facilitate a complete recovery.”

Vorob'yev replied with an assurance before Vorreedi could reply. Ivan looked at Miles pityingly.

Benin left.


End file.
